I.
Dear God:
With regard to the recent revelations that have come about regarding my deep-seeded hurt and crippling fear of rejection, I wanted to say thank you for speaking through Mike. I realize that all of this could have been revealed some other way; You just picked the nicest way possible. I am grateful for the gesture.
Affectionately Yours,
Bean
II.
When I wrote about my reluctance to make new friends/open up/give of myself in “Green Eggs and Jelly Beans”, I didn’t think I’d write a follow-up piece so soon. But here I am, exhausted from crying, my eyes still swollen and waterlogged from peeing out of my eyes for hours last night. This sounds dramatic but it’s not far from the truth. I look like I’ve had an allergic reaction to shellfish. In my defense, the hurt I had buried deep within me was coaxed to the surface. When I finally had the courage to peek at it, which was more of a sidelong glance if I’m honest, I realized that my heart still bled over this wound. And that it was the root of my fear.
It started with an unassuming conversation over a cup of coffee at The Gypsy Den. Mike gently brought up my friends or lack of friends, to be more accurate. He cautiously, gently, kindly mentioned that he had noticed that I’d changed from the girl he first met:
“You immediately bring up some embarrassing story about your bodily functions—often times when it’s just shocking or inappropriate. Why do you feel the need to do this?”
Silence.
I didn’t answer because I really didn’t know. I’d never thought about it before. Heck, I didn’t even realize I had become this girl. He proceeded (gingerly) to share his thoughts about this new Bean:
“I think you talk about your armpits or farts to shock people; you use it as a way of ‘being real’, when it’s really not being real. The first thing I noticed and really liked about you was the fact that you were very interested in people, even if you’d just met them. You were engaged in conversation; you were present; you made yourself vulnerable by sharing so much of your life, but you were vulnerable without caring. You were just open and honest and sincere. Now, I think you keep people at arm’s length by just telling them funny and embarrassing stories about yourself. But whenever someone really wants to be friends with you—wants to get to know you—you just make up excuses for why you can’t or don’t want to.”
Pardon my language but
[Insert loud noises, fireworks, screeching tires, and high-pitched screams]
Of course, he asked why this had become my modus operandi. Of course, I didn’t have an answer. But I did start to cry. At this point he suggested we walk home. It felt like the longest walk ever. We walked in silence and listened to the sounds of our breathing, my sniffling, broken glass crunching underfoot, and the distant whirring of the freeway.
At home, Mike tried to help me figure out why I had changed so drastically. I cried a lot. I was sad I had embarrassed him on a few occasions. I was sad I had probably hurt really good, really nice girls by repeatedly rejecting their friend requests. I was sad because I knew that my eyes would be super swollen from my ridiculous cry-fest. But I think it was good for me.
I learned a few things that night:
1. Puffs tissue is soft on the nose but not very good at absorbing tears. I went through several tissues and discovered that the aloe moisturizers infused in the tissues make them somewhat water resistant. Okay, not completely water resistant but I don’t think they are as effective as normal conference room tissues. They felt slimy on my face.
2. I do keep girls at arm’s length, despite how nice and kind and perfectly wonderful they are.
3. I do this because I’m afraid to get close. I wasn’t always this way.
4. Mike is right: I am missing out on some amazing friendships by not giving anyone a chance.
5. I have never really gotten over her.
III.
It took us awhile to become friends. Our first impressions were off by a few degrees (to say the least). I saw her as the prettiest girl on campus, innocent and pure and the object of desire for almost every guy I knew. She saw me as a pretty b*tch. Needless to say, she was wrong about me (I was right about her), which led to our inevitable friendship.
And oh, how I loved this girl! She was fun and nice and lovely and innocent and wholesome and extremely bright and terribly beautiful. Despite my goofiness and emotional instability, she loved me and always seemed to bring out the best in me. It wasn’t long before I knew she was going to be one of those “forever friends”, you know—one of those people you know is going to be in your life for a long time.
We were practically joined at the hip. Everyone knew that where I was, she was too (and vice versa). She often took me as her date to sorority events even though I was not “Greek”. I felt loved and cool and special because this girl--this girl that was loved by so many girls and adored by so many guys--this girl was my roommate and one of my best friends. We shared our hopes and fears, our secret and not-so-secret dreams. I held nothing back from her. I loved her and wanted her to succeed, wanted her to find love and accomplish all of her dreams. I wanted the best for her, wanted to protect her from all the bad in the world and celebrate every victory and accomplishment with her. No matter what happened (and a lot happened to me), she always rooted for me. She was great at making me feel loved and special, like it was her job. In fact, it was because of her that I met Mike. That’s probably one of the best gifts—aside from her friendship—that she has ever given me. I experienced (and survived) some of the best, most volatile years of my life with her by my side.
The end was unexpected and heartbreaking. I can only speculate how she felt.
Our lives started to move in two different directions. She and another roommate were graduating after four years. I had another year to go because I had allowed my “extracurricular activities” to get the best of me. She had been accepted into the Master’s program at UCSD and was well on her way to becoming a doctor. While I celebrated their graduation I tried to hide my anxious fears and suppress my guts, which threatened to spill out at any time.
A beautiful boy who had talked marriage broke up with me. I had a full year to “get it together” and finish school; I had a lot of work ahead of me. To be honest, I was a bit sad I wasn’t celebrating my graduation with them.
There was talk of moving into a bigger house, one I couldn’t possibly afford to live in on my meager student’s budget. I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford the rent. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t want to disappoint her. It was easy to avoid thinking about the end of our cohabitation because she worked days, I worked nights; we hardly saw each other. When my other roommate asked for my rental application, I was just leaving for work so I had to tell her I wasn’t going to be moving with them because I couldn’t afford it. I hadn't even told her.
I felt terrible. I already missed her.
She was cool and distant toward me when I got home so I knew she’d heard the news. I felt bad I didn’t tell her myself. I believe it hurt her more than I thought it would. She didn’t understand. She said some things that seemed foreign coming out of her mouth, things I knew were meant to mask her disappointment. She ended with, “Good luck with that.”
For the second time that day, I felt terrible. And I felt very alone.
I spent the rest of my summer alone (in hiding, really), nursing my hurt. I didn’t have the courage to apologize for hurting her, for letting her down. We grew apart and hardly spoke. I spent most of my time alone. I hung out in bars while working on crossword puzzles. I drove around with a stuffed elephant (Aidan) I bought at Marshall’s strapped into the passenger’s seat. I just wanted some company. When I wasn’t at work, I drove up to Los Alamitos and Irvine to see my family and stayed until I had to drive back down to work. Sometimes I slept in my car. I went from having a best friend/almost-sister and a community that we belonged to together to being completely alone. I got used to the solitude. I never got used to being without her. We moved out without seeing each other, without saying goodbye.
I moved in with three boys I found on Craigslist. I just happened to be across the street from where Mike lived, but I didn’t find out till later, and that’s another story for another time. Aside from her, most of my friends had graduated and moved away. I started the school year alone.
I cried over her a lot that year. Just when I thought I had gotten over it, someone would call and ask if I was going to their party, and I’d have to say I wasn’t invited. Of course, that person would ask why since I was her other half, and I’d have to gently explain we no longer kept in touch. Those were always awkward phone calls.
I sent a few text messages and tried to call. I never received any responses. One day in May, I received a text. And then a call. I have to admit I was scared and anxious and hopeful all at once. We talked. She was familiar but not at the same time. So much had happened since we last spoke. We said we should get together for lunch sometime. We never did.
The last time I heard from her was on the day I graduated. I read it and re-read it to make sure I wasn’t joking myself. Mike and I were running around the field, giddy with excitement that the commencement ceremony was finally over. While looking for my family, I received a text:
I watched you graduate today. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. Good luck with the future.
Or something to that effect. I think there was more but I can’t remember it now. I immediately looked around to see if I could spot her watching from afar. I never found her.
I wrote to her a few times after graduation to say I had no hard feelings for how things turned out. I thanked her for loving me so much and for taking such good care of me while we were friends and roommates. I saw that she read my e-mail. She never responded. I stopped trying because I didn’t want to seem desperate.
IV.
It may seem silly and inconsequential to be so hung up on the end of a friendship but I haven’t had one like it since. Don’t get me wrong—I do have some girlfriends. I have two very dear friends—my best girls, my “forever friends”—who have been with me through the mire and back. They were around long before her and are still in my life now. Mike was really the first close friend I made after the fallout. And then he became my best friend. I assume you can guess what happened after that. To be honest, I sort of gave up on girls after her.
But I think I’m ready. I haven’t been a “girlfriend” to new friends in a long time. I used to be really good at it (I think). Now it feels foreign and terrifying. So much of me wants to run and hide and give up all at once. I am a coward.
But I am trying because Mike said I have a lot to give, and that I am great at being a friend (to him at least). He told me not to be afraid. He said he didn’t want me to miss out on great friendships for the rest of my life. He said I would be blessed by my girlfriends in ways I could not anticipate. I knew he was right.
V.
Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, know that I still think of you. I hope you’re doing well and that your life is filled with much happiness, laughter, and love. You touched my life in ways you will never know. I think of you—the person you were, the person I was at that time in our lives—with the fondest memories.
And since it was your birthday (a day and a month ago) yesterday, Happy Birthday.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Future-Babies (or babies of the future)
I.
I have a confession:
I actually talked to my imaginary children this morning.
I won't tell you what I said because I'm a little embarrassed to admit this but you can laugh at me. It’s pretty silly.
I looked in the rearview mirror and pictured them sitting in the backseat playing-poking-eating-laughing-screaming-crying-throwing up-waving-smiling-sleeping-looking at the outside world in wonder. And I thought,
I hope I get to meet you some day.
I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately (my future-babies). I wonder if God will give them to me, if He’ll send them to me for safe-keeping or if He’ll keep them with Him. I will be the first to acknowledge that for awhile, I lived my life without thinking about them at all. I made bad choices, ones that scarred me in ways I didn’t anticipate. And when the glamour and allure of the fast life eventually faded into black, empty nothingness, when I was left alone, I remembered my future-babies.
But was it already too late?
I buried my questions and anxieties and prayers and tears and guilt deep inside. I couldn’t let any of that baggage bubble to the surface, not when I was trying to find a friend, someone who would stick around even though I was a broken mess.
I never thought that the friend God sent me would be my great love, the person He had made just for me.
I wish I had waited for him. Mike never dwells on my past but I know it affects him. He never uses it against me. We have talked and will probably continue to talk about how my choices have affected us, are affecting us, will continue to affect us. It is at those times I feel the most remorse over the things I’ve done, the person I was, because it affects Mike and our future-babies. It's so unfair to them.
II.
Sometimes I wonder if God pulled Mike aside and gave him a pep talk. He's just so good at loving me I think he must be getting paid by my parents or has been guaranteed a room upgrade in heaven. A pep talk seems more realistic. I imagine God waiting for Mike at a coffee shop, some place charming and quaint with old wood, exposed brick walls, mismatched cups, and delicious food. Mike shows up and walks toward God’s table. He extends his hand to shake God's hand when God embraces him. It’s a real hug, too, not just a man-hug. Mike sits down. On the table are two cups of coffee, a tattered leather-bound journal, and cream and sugar. They both reach for the cream at the same time. Mike says,
“Sorry—You first.”
So God complies to avoid a potentially awkward exchange while Mike adds sugar to his cup. He adds cream when God is done.
They drink in silence before God says,
“What do you think of Bean?”
And I’m not sure what Mike would actually say (and don’t want to be presumptuous) but if I have to guess, I assume he would say something like,
“She’s great. I like her a lot.” He takes another sip of his coffee before adding,
“She has been through a lot.” God nods.
“Indeed.”
And because Mike isn’t sure what to say (or why God is asking) he adds,
“But I do love her, you know, despite all that. She’s cool.”
God nods in agreement but doesn’t say anything because He’s swallowing His coffee.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
Mike nods.
“I wanted to talk to you about Bean.” He stops a server walking past and orders a cheese Danish.
“Do you want anything?” Mike initially shakes his head “no” but at God’s insistence, orders a blueberry scone. Their orders arrive almost immediately.
“Bean is wounded. I’ve allowed her to experience much hurt and many types, too. Unfortunately, this makes her…complicated.”
Mike takes a drink of his coffee and says, “I understand.”
God takes another bite of His Danish.
“I made you for her because I know you will do the best job of loving her. She’s going to need you a lot, you know, to help her heal. I’ll work with her directly to handle the major issues—self-image, pride, brokenness, etc.—but I just need you to stay; stay with her, Mike. When she tells you to give up, please don’t. It’s going to be hard. And as you two work through everything together, you will be hurt as well, I’m afraid.”
Mike nods but doesn’t say anything. God flips through His journal, which is full of hand-written letters and photographs before finding what He’s looking for. He pulls out a photograph and slides it across the table toward Mike. It is a picture of me, or at least a girl/woman who looks like me. She looks very happy. He stares at it long and hard before asking,
“Is this…?”
God nods.
“This is Bean the way I made her to be. I love her so much, Mike. I wish she could see herself the way I see her.” There is a mixture of fondness and sadness in God’s voice as He talks to Mike about me. He has tears in His eyes. Mike, perhaps because he feels awkward or out of respect, keeps his head down.
“Somewhere along the way, she has forgotten how much I love her. She can no longer see herself the way I see her.”
He hesitates before continuing, which prompts Mike to look up.
“Please love her. Show her how much I love her, and when you want to give up because she has hurt you so, remember this photograph. That girl is in there somewhere. She’s the one for you. You’ll see.”
III.
When I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Mike, wanted him to be the father of my future-babies, wanted to grow old with him till my teeth fell out, I felt guilty.
Had I spoiled our chances to meet our future-babies?
Of course, I don’t have the answer to this question. I used to be better about suppressing it and hiding it from everyone. Lately, for whatever reason, it has been harder to ignore. I often find myself thinking about my sweet future-babies and wondering if I’ll ever meet them or if I’ll have to wait till we get to heaven.
IV.
Dear Future-Babies,
Wherever you are, I hope you know how much I love you. I want so badly to meet you, to hold you, to smell your sweet baby drool and feel your heart beat against mine. I want to sing songs to you off-key till you fall asleep…unless my singing is so bad it keeps you awake. I can play tapes. And hum, I can hum. I want you to meet Mike because he is wonderful! He is excited to meet you guys, too. He’s funny and kind and can’t wait to teach you all sorts of things about the world. We talk about you guys often and look forward to the day we meet, whether it’s during this lifetime or when we get to heaven.
Love,
Bean (and Mike, too)
I have a confession:
I actually talked to my imaginary children this morning.
I won't tell you what I said because I'm a little embarrassed to admit this but you can laugh at me. It’s pretty silly.
I looked in the rearview mirror and pictured them sitting in the backseat playing-poking-eating-laughing-screaming-crying-throwing up-waving-smiling-sleeping-looking at the outside world in wonder. And I thought,
I hope I get to meet you some day.
I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately (my future-babies). I wonder if God will give them to me, if He’ll send them to me for safe-keeping or if He’ll keep them with Him. I will be the first to acknowledge that for awhile, I lived my life without thinking about them at all. I made bad choices, ones that scarred me in ways I didn’t anticipate. And when the glamour and allure of the fast life eventually faded into black, empty nothingness, when I was left alone, I remembered my future-babies.
But was it already too late?
I buried my questions and anxieties and prayers and tears and guilt deep inside. I couldn’t let any of that baggage bubble to the surface, not when I was trying to find a friend, someone who would stick around even though I was a broken mess.
I never thought that the friend God sent me would be my great love, the person He had made just for me.
I wish I had waited for him. Mike never dwells on my past but I know it affects him. He never uses it against me. We have talked and will probably continue to talk about how my choices have affected us, are affecting us, will continue to affect us. It is at those times I feel the most remorse over the things I’ve done, the person I was, because it affects Mike and our future-babies. It's so unfair to them.
II.
Sometimes I wonder if God pulled Mike aside and gave him a pep talk. He's just so good at loving me I think he must be getting paid by my parents or has been guaranteed a room upgrade in heaven. A pep talk seems more realistic. I imagine God waiting for Mike at a coffee shop, some place charming and quaint with old wood, exposed brick walls, mismatched cups, and delicious food. Mike shows up and walks toward God’s table. He extends his hand to shake God's hand when God embraces him. It’s a real hug, too, not just a man-hug. Mike sits down. On the table are two cups of coffee, a tattered leather-bound journal, and cream and sugar. They both reach for the cream at the same time. Mike says,
“Sorry—You first.”
So God complies to avoid a potentially awkward exchange while Mike adds sugar to his cup. He adds cream when God is done.
They drink in silence before God says,
“What do you think of Bean?”
And I’m not sure what Mike would actually say (and don’t want to be presumptuous) but if I have to guess, I assume he would say something like,
“She’s great. I like her a lot.” He takes another sip of his coffee before adding,
“She has been through a lot.” God nods.
“Indeed.”
And because Mike isn’t sure what to say (or why God is asking) he adds,
“But I do love her, you know, despite all that. She’s cool.”
God nods in agreement but doesn’t say anything because He’s swallowing His coffee.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
Mike nods.
“I wanted to talk to you about Bean.” He stops a server walking past and orders a cheese Danish.
“Do you want anything?” Mike initially shakes his head “no” but at God’s insistence, orders a blueberry scone. Their orders arrive almost immediately.
“Bean is wounded. I’ve allowed her to experience much hurt and many types, too. Unfortunately, this makes her…complicated.”
Mike takes a drink of his coffee and says, “I understand.”
God takes another bite of His Danish.
“I made you for her because I know you will do the best job of loving her. She’s going to need you a lot, you know, to help her heal. I’ll work with her directly to handle the major issues—self-image, pride, brokenness, etc.—but I just need you to stay; stay with her, Mike. When she tells you to give up, please don’t. It’s going to be hard. And as you two work through everything together, you will be hurt as well, I’m afraid.”
Mike nods but doesn’t say anything. God flips through His journal, which is full of hand-written letters and photographs before finding what He’s looking for. He pulls out a photograph and slides it across the table toward Mike. It is a picture of me, or at least a girl/woman who looks like me. She looks very happy. He stares at it long and hard before asking,
“Is this…?”
God nods.
“This is Bean the way I made her to be. I love her so much, Mike. I wish she could see herself the way I see her.” There is a mixture of fondness and sadness in God’s voice as He talks to Mike about me. He has tears in His eyes. Mike, perhaps because he feels awkward or out of respect, keeps his head down.
“Somewhere along the way, she has forgotten how much I love her. She can no longer see herself the way I see her.”
He hesitates before continuing, which prompts Mike to look up.
“Please love her. Show her how much I love her, and when you want to give up because she has hurt you so, remember this photograph. That girl is in there somewhere. She’s the one for you. You’ll see.”
III.
When I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Mike, wanted him to be the father of my future-babies, wanted to grow old with him till my teeth fell out, I felt guilty.
Had I spoiled our chances to meet our future-babies?
Of course, I don’t have the answer to this question. I used to be better about suppressing it and hiding it from everyone. Lately, for whatever reason, it has been harder to ignore. I often find myself thinking about my sweet future-babies and wondering if I’ll ever meet them or if I’ll have to wait till we get to heaven.
IV.
Dear Future-Babies,
Wherever you are, I hope you know how much I love you. I want so badly to meet you, to hold you, to smell your sweet baby drool and feel your heart beat against mine. I want to sing songs to you off-key till you fall asleep…unless my singing is so bad it keeps you awake. I can play tapes. And hum, I can hum. I want you to meet Mike because he is wonderful! He is excited to meet you guys, too. He’s funny and kind and can’t wait to teach you all sorts of things about the world. We talk about you guys often and look forward to the day we meet, whether it’s during this lifetime or when we get to heaven.
Love,
Bean (and Mike, too)
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